


until we get out of here ; dead or alive

by smoll_jane



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Bunkers, Detention, Gun Violence, Knifeplay, M/M, Nudity, Panic Attacks, Science Experiments, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, Sex, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Social Experiments, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, War, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-03-27 13:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19013614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoll_jane/pseuds/smoll_jane
Summary: 10th of June 2004. A child disappears.29th of May 2005. A door opens. Neon lights blink. He’s alone.He won’t stay alone forever. One after an other, twelve other children will disappear, twelve other doors will open.29th of May 2020. 365. Get ready.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> seems like I'm back! 
> 
> with this fic, i'm trying a brand new genre i never experienced before, and i'll do my best to provide you a good plot! for those who know these two stories, you'll be able to notice slight details reminding of Hunger Games or The Maze Runner. 
> 
> concerning the ships, i won't tag any of them, but i'll mention them in the end notes if you really want to know what you can find in the different chapters!
> 
> feel free to give me your opinions, and enjoy your reading~

_Journal of Lee Jihoon._

_29th of May 2019 (in theory)_

_It seems to be a special day for the Highers. And it is for some of us, too. Everyone is tense, I think some of us will fight before the end of the day. Junhui didn't tell a word today. I think he's regressing. Mingyu is much paler than usual. I guess he's skipped sleeping for a few days. Chan almost barked at me when I asked if someone was using the toilets. I don't know where Hansol is, nothing new. Jeonghan has been sleeping for the whole day. I think he gave up on helping me. I'll have to do the whole job by myself._

_End of today's review._

Seungkwan enters the Room with a tray. Rice and apples. Again.

"There's a letter, mister Robot.

-Don't call him like that, hisses Minghao, perched up a cabinet, knuckles white on the handle of his dagger.

-He's a grown-ass man, he can defend himself alone."

The main concerned comes to take the envelope, silently. It's been a long time. The Highers have let them live on their own for many months, with no instruction. Everyone gathers around Junhui feverishly taking the letter out. His eyes run on the page for a few seconds, and his face turns livid in a finger snap. "What does it say?" dares Wonwoo, above his shoulder. "Jun?" Minghao has never been able to hide the worries in his voice every time something happens to Junhui. Suddenly, the Robot's dark eyes look up as he tightens the sheet. The words seem to ache, burn his throat.

"-365. Get ready.

-I don't want to die, whispers Seokmin, behind everyone, hoping to not be heard.

-Shut the fuck up Seokmin, we won't die, hisses Chan.

-I'm gonna take a shower."

Minghao leaves to the changing rooms, nervously scratching his scar. Tic, toc. Dropping his clothes on the floor, it's just a matter of time until his lungs give up. The water. The icy, cold, freezing water. He's already lacking of air. He crashes in a shower cabin, knees hitting the tiling, struggling to turn the tap on. The stream quickly covers his back, making him shiver, breathe again. It hurts. His chest hurts. His back hurts. His throat hurts. His scar hurts. _Inhale. Exhale._ "Minghao, are you okay?" A knock at the door. Hansol could just have opened it to check by himself, but he's one of the only men here who respects privacy. "Y-yeah thanks." He chokes on his retained tears, clogging his throat. _Inhale. Exhale._ The more his body gets frozen, the more access to oxygen he gets. He doesn't sense the scar anymore. His fingers already lose sensation too. Minghao doesn't have the strength to stand up nor swipe his hair away. He curls up on the floor, hoping to wake up, realize it's nothing but a nightmare from the beginning, like every single day since he arrived there.

_I don't want to die._

It's the chaos in the Room. Minghao, Hansol and Seokmin disappeared, the last one probably to throw up. But the remainings are arguing over what the letter means. It's been a long time since a general fight. The majority thinks it's about days, the other ones prefer to deny a possible action. "We're not ready, we're not ready, we're not ready.", Junhui has been whispering like a litany, curled up on the floor, ignored by everyone but Wonwoo, mechanically rubbing his back while struggling to follow the conversation.

"I tell you it's about days! In a year something is gonna happen! yells Jihoon, pressing the letter against his chest.

-How can you be so sure about that? You're not a fucking genius Jihoon, stop acting like you know every single thing that happens in there, disdainfully hisses Mingyu through his teeth, debiting his whole speech in one breath.

-Even if it was about days, what would that mean? What would happen in a year?"

Everyone stops to look at Jisoo. They didn't think about it. And suddenly, a much heavier burden crashes on them. Because it's obvious. What they always refused to talk about. The reason of their presence. The reason of their training as war machines. The silence follows. Even worth than fighting. They can't deny the truth, they can't deny the fact that it's going to happen. "We're not ready, we're not ready, we're not ready." The water flowing in the background in echo with Seokmin's coughing. Jisoo whispering himself a lullaby.

"Well, we better get ready, just like they told us.", Mingyu breaks the silence, opening a cabinet to take his rifle out. He throws an exhausted look at the nine other guys in the place and leaves to the shooting room with a sigh. "Get ready to kill who brought us here, yeah." Chan takes his knives out to sharpen their blades. He exudes hate. Every single pore of his skin sweats the wrath he keeps inside, he polishes, he's got ready for the day they'll be free. Not knowing if this day will happen.

"Seungkwan, put that fucking gun down. You're not getting on Mingyu's nerves. You've spent enough time in the lock chamber."

Seuncheol's voice is harsh. No discussion. Seungkwan closes the weapons cabinet with a frustrated sigh and starts eating the food they all left becoming cold. Wonwoo shakes Junhui's shoulder. "We should eat." He looks at him as if he insulted him, widening his eyes. "We're not ready." Sometimes, even Wonwoo can't deal with the Robot's crises, himself too tense, too stressed, too tired. He abandons him in the middle of the room and sits next to Seungkwan. The murmurs don't stop, and it looks like Junhui is locking himself in an invisible prison.

"Your hair needs to be cut Jun. And you need to shave, too."

No one pays attention to Minghao standing in the changing rooms door frame, still shaking, hair dripping, eyes puffy. No one except Junhui, torn from his vicious circle, who finally stands up and follows him inside. They pass in front of Seokmin who's washing his face, and finally Minghao gently makes Junhui sit on a bench, next to the sink. "We're not ready." He approaches the scissors, stops him from moving with his icy fingers. "You are ready Jun. Not us. But it doesn't matter." His voice is sweet. Gentle. He's the only one to stay patient with him. To always be kind. "No. It matters. We're not ready. I'm supposed to make you be ready." His hand, the one with the scar, slips on Junhui's jaw. What can he say more? When the hair is short enough, Minghao puts the scissors down with a sigh. "Ready for the shaving?" He nods, like a child. Even if he can't remember what it is being a child. Minghao can. He still sees that little boy on national TV, the picture his parents were holding, crying, begging to find him. With a nostalgic smile, he slowly passes the razor on his chin. He was six years old at that time. He cried because he didn't want it to happen to him. The next year, for the commemoration, he held back his tears, too afraid to be beaten or mocked by the other orphans. Eleven years later, when he woke up under deafening machines keeping him alive, he cried alone. Because he realized no one else would do it for him, he wouldn't miss anyone.

"Why are you so cold?" A whisper. The closest thing to _normality._ Minghao gently makes him tilt the head, trying to touch him the less possible, to access under his jaw.

"I took a shower.

-You already took one when we woke up.

-Mmh... that's right. But I needed to cool down. It was hot over there, in the Room.

-You take showers too cold."

And that's it. Nothing more. It seems like Junhui relaxes a bit under Minghao's nimble fingers. Showering for one, shaving for the other. The other boys almost blessed him when Minghao found that solution to calm Junhui down during his crises. Before he arrived, they always needed to lock him in his room, or hide themselves to not be killed, when it turned out of control and made him violent. "There. You're all soft now.", murmured in Chinese. Jun doesn't react, it's too far, too blurred for him to remember. A smile. Nothing in response, just Junhui wandering a hand on his own face. And it's enough. Minghao brushes his hands and goes back to the Room, shoving Jeonghan on the way. "Oh can you help me cut my hair too?" A look behind, where Junhui is still sitting on the bench, a look ahead, in the Room, where the other machines are training. "Do it yourself."

~

The neons flash with spasms for a few seconds before completely lighting up the room, until the targets, waiting to be shot. Finally alone. Seungkwan smells the rest of powder scent on his gun, ready to get rid of all that stress he gathered during the day. "I didn't think you'd obey to Seungcheol, earlier." Holding back a scream, he turns to threaten the void with his weapon, slightly panting. A thumb on his lower back freezes him and he has to close the eyes for an instant. He senses the blade under his jaw. "You reflexes are a bit dangerous, you know that?", whispered directly in his ear, hot, raw. Seungkwan turns to grab Hansol's throat, nimbly spreading the knife away, and stick their eyes together. "Mainly, they will kill you someday if you continue on appearing from nowhere." A chuckle, despite his clogged breathing. One by one, he unhooks Seungkwan's fingers, mechanically counting. "It's been a long time since we last ended up alone." So much more than a long time, in fact. The last time, they were the same height, and now, Seungkwan would have to tiptoe to reach for his lips. Hansol is taller than him, looks more like a man. At least more like the memories of what men look like he has. When his fingers curl around his wrist, Seungkwan shivers, tightens the gun in his hand, feels it burning his palm. "Give me a minute." The cold on his skin. No one else than the void facing him. Taking a deep breath, he advances to the shooting platform and focuses on his target. There he is. The blast makes his whole body vibrate, the acrid taste of adrenaline invades his mouth, his fingers tickle around the trigger.

When the dartboard looks like nothing but a mess of holes and not like the actual man silhouette it's supposed to, when the tank of his gun is empty, when he's drunk of the slightly burning scent, Seungkwan puts his weapon down and closes his eyes for an instant. He can never avoid that question from barging in his mind when he ends up a shooting session. _Could you do the same with a human?_ He doesn't know. He never knew. He'll never know. Until the day he'll have to make a choice, facing someone he's supposed to kill. If this day happens. A hiss resounds next to his ear and a knife flies to the exact center of the dartboard. A second later, lips is tracing a line on his shoulder, hands sliding around his waist. "Is everyone asleep?" Slightly shaking, unsure, habit lost. "At least they're in their cells." A vibration above the thin fabric of his shirt before he himself tears it away to give access to his skin. Hansol's lips don't last to make his collarbone their, his hands tug him closer to stick his chest to Seungkwan's back. With a relieved sigh, he lets his head loll backwards, next to Hansol's, giving free access to his neck. Everything spins in an exhilarating way, he hasn't been so relaxed for _months._ "Why didn't you come back earlier?" A moan when the teeth enter in contact with his throat. "You were still in you cell." He takes his hands. "That's not what I meant." Soon, there won't be any more oxygen between their two bodies and Seungkwan can feel Hansol, slowly loosing it. "We've all been pretty busy." He's lying. He's lying because he doesn't want to fight. Tell the truth and having to bear Seungkwan's hurt ego. He doesn't want to admit he was _scared._ Scared of him. After he came back from the lock chamber, he changed. Radically. He wasn't the Seungkwan he knew anymore. They grew up together, but he didn't recognize him. It took him months to win against the anger eating him away. To extinguish the fire burning in his eyes. And it took Hansol months to gather the courage to approach him again. To act as if nothing happened.

He's cut off in his thoughts when their lips meet, reminding him of how much he missed that contact. Seungkwan leans in the touch when he lays a hand to his face, relaxes, melts. He's not scared anymore. _His_ Seungkwan is back. Their tongues didn't forget the dance, the ritual they used to practice so many times before. The coldness of the room disappears, they forget they're actually surrounded with weapons, trapped in a hopeless cage. One of the rare luxury they can offer themselves.

When Hansol's hand slide under his mistress underwear, a click resonates behind them. The loading of a riffle.

"You could at least do that in your cell."

The mood breaks with the kiss and their bodies separate. A frown is already drawn on Seungkwan's forehead when he turns to Mingyu, gun already in hand. Despite Hansol's fingers curled around his wrist, he takes a step to the intruder, managing the anger slowly boiling in him as good as he can. "Always where you shouldn't be. Always bothering someone." He knows it's useless. He knows nothing will follow that move. But Seungkwan raises his gun, eyes sticked with Mingyu's. And, of course, Mingyu does the same. "Stop that immediately." Hansol's voice has the capacity to break their focusing, and Seungkwan hisses before freeing his hand to leave the room. After staring at each other for a second, Hansol follows and lets Mingyu alone.

"Seungkwan!

-I'm not in the mood anymore, whispered tirelessly.

-So what? Are we gonna wait for six months again? Are we gonna wait until your anger has passed again? Why do you always run away?" The words slipped, rolled on his tongue naturally. But the absence of them now burns, gnaws Hansol. And the disappointment in Seungkwan's eyes end digging the hole. "Fuck you, Hansol." It's always the same thing. Nothing is meant to happen only once down here. And the arguments are nothing but an exception. The door number Five slams loudly in front of him, and he ends up alone in the middle of the Room. The Robot's door, the first one, opens and its occupant appears in its frame, looking lost and scared. "Go back to sleep Jun. It's late." It's hard to hide the tremors in his voice, but hopefully Junhui doesn't notice them and returns in his cell.

It's cold tonight.

~

Soonyoung is the one to come back with a letter this morning. Junhui looks up from the blade he was sharpening, sitting on the cold floor, and the messenger hands him the envelope with a smile. Today, he decides to read out loud, and the present ones heads turn to him when his voice resonates. "364. The Shadow musts go to the- No. Wait no. Not now. No!" His voice cracks when he straightens up the head to look for Minghao, already coming to him. His usual comforting smile appears and he kneels to reach Junhui's height. "What does it say Jun?" He hides the letter against his chest, covers it with his arms, eyes flooded with panic. _No, no, no_. Jeonghan approaches too, putting a supporting hand on Minghao's shoulder. "You should let us read it." Junhui shakes the head, tightening his sides so strong he could break one of his rib. With even more delicacy than usual, Minghao slowly unhooks his arms to grab the paper already wrinkled, and his eyes run on it. "I don't have a choice Jun. It's probably for the grafting. They have to check it, but you already know, right?" He shakes his head, again. Cling on his arms, eyes begging.

"You can't leave now. You can't leave us. Not now.

-But I have to. You- Did you scratch you ears again? Jun you're hurting me. Junnie, your nails are hurting me."

Starting to breathe faster and faster, Junhui continues on shaking the head, startling when Minghao raises a hand to his ears, sighing at the view of the damaged skin. He slightly loosens his grip on his forearm, focuses on the scar, not looking away. "The transplant is good. I can tell it. You don't have to go. You can't go now!" He's about to add something, to tell Junhui to not worry, that everything will be alright even if it won't, but Jeonghan squeezes his shoulder. "It's useless Minghao." It breaks his heart, but he softly takes Junhui's hands off his skin while he continues on mumbling he can't go, and stands up, looking around to see Wonwoo coming to them.

"Take care of him, he-

-Don't tell me what I already know. Go ahead, they're waiting for you."

No one ever says goodbye. He's the only one to be requested to the lock room. It's usually only for emergency cases, nobody wants to go there, and most of the time the boy ending on the icy white flooring has passed out, injured or too sick to walk by himself. He doesn't know how many time he'll be away. How many time they'll keep him asleep, apart, weak. At least he stopped having panic attacks every time he's requested. "Come back! Don't go!" Minghao closes the eyes to hold himself from turning back, clenches his fists. How much longer will he still feel this ball of angst clogging his throat? He knows it's not angst about himself, about what they will do to him. Some of them would be glad to take a step in this room and never come back. But he fears to be away for too long and Jun being misunderstood, mistreated.

"Minghao!"

He never calls him by his name. He never calls anyone by his name. The automatic doors open and he penetrates the already gassed zone. A swish, and he's cut from the world.

 _Their_ world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ship : hansol x seungkwan)


	2. Chapter 2

_Journal of Lee Jihoon_

_3rd of June 2019 (in theory)_

_360_

_I was right. Junhui is regressing. Minghao has been away for 5 days now and hopefully he's calming down a bit. But the first day we had to lock_ _him_ _in his room, and when we finally opened the door he had passed out. I'm feeling guilty about that but the others say we can't do anything about it and we absolutely mustn't tell Minghao when he comes back. But I'm sure he'll ask and someone will let the fuse out. That someone could be me, but I'm way too scared and he's way too fast to pull out his knives._  
_Seungkwan and Hansol are really scary these days, I feel like Seungkwan could kill him, but they avoid each other and it's really awkward._  
_Nobody talked about the countdown. It's about days, now it's sure, but it seems like we all decided to ignore it. Except for Jun who seems to be more tense about it every day. I already proposed him to read the letters but he refused, of course. He always tells us to train more, he keeps on saying we're not ready, and in a certain way I agree. We're nothing but ready because we don't have any clue of what we should be waiting for._  
_Today's notes look more like a teenager's journal than an analysis of the situation. But I guess I needed to write all that stuff, it's like that somedays._  
_End of_

Jihoon stops writing when the recognizable sound of Seungcheol's annoyance resonates. A growl makes his adam's apple vibrate, and when he looks up, he can see the eldest's neck veins pulsating crazily.

"Again. Harder. FUCKING PUNCH ME!" Jisoo, facing him on the ring looks terrified for a second, holding his fists clenched but not moving. But after a few heavy breaths, his look hardens as he sticks his and Seungcheol's eyes together. "If you want to fight so much, go ahead, hit me, show me how I'm supposed to do!" Seungcheol doesn't need to be asked again and his hand immediately ends up on Jisoo's throat, pinning him down the ring with a weird noise as the victim's back hits the floor. He struggles to hit Seungcheol, quickly lacking of air, but his opponent tightens his grip, keeps his right arm sticked to the floor. Everyone present in the Room is looking at the scene, alarmed. It's been a long time. No one missed Seungcheol's blowing ups.

"ENOUGH!" Jisoo almost spits his lungs out when his trachea is finally free, thanks to Mingyu who violently jumped on the ring to push Seungcheol aside and block his hands. "You wanna kill him?! You know he can't fight. Get an opponent at your size and leave him the fuck alone." Jeonghan quickly appears from nowhere and helps Jisoo to get away, still coughing, massaging his already bruised skin. The atmosphere's tension takes a level up as Mingyu and Seungcheol stand up. Mingyu may be strong, but no one except maybe Chan could win against Seungcheol. And everyone knows it, himself first. At the sight of Seungcheol's wrath, it's not hard to deduce Mingyu will end up in the lock chamber if nobody stops them.

"You know I wouldn't hurt him. He needs to strengthen or else he'll perish. You should mind your own damn business Mingyu, hisses Seungcheol between gritting teeth.

-It's some of my business too. Everyone would be concerned if you beat him. If he doesn't want to fight, _you_ should maybe mind your fucking business."

Aside, Jeonghan has to retain Jisoo from going back on the ring, fuming with anger. _No one ever thinks to ask me first about my opinion._ After what seems to be hours, Mingyu's fist meets Seungcheol's jaw with a scary crack, and everyone around holds his breath. Right after, a festival of groans, hits, growls, skin friction. Jisoo leaves to his cell with a sigh, no one paying attention to him. It seems like they've been fighting for hours when Wonwoo barges in from the lab, panic all over his face as he sees the disaster on the ring. "What the fuck?! Stop that! I SAID STOP!" He has to throw himself under Seungcheol's fist to cover Mingyu, already half passed out, unable to defend himself anymore. The Beast hesitates to hit for a second, but Wonwoo's gaze is persuasive enough and he stands up, stretching his muscles, leaving to the changing rooms with a disdainful hissing. Junhui gets out of it at the same moment, and his look betrays his surprise. During the short gap of time it takes him to understand what happened, Wonwoo kneels to inspect Mingyu and throws a dark glance at the others around. "You're nothing but a bunch of cowards. He could've killed him. If you're not gonna help me you better look away."

A heavy cloud of contained violence floats in the air. Many of them would have been glad to take a part of the fight. But they all know it would be useless. Nothing but a waste of time and pain. Just like Junhui whispers, assisting at the scene from afar. "We can't fight now. We're not ready." His chest is lifting up too fast, his hands obviously craving to scratch something from nervousness. But instead, he manages himself, for once, and goes to his cell. The others disperse either at the lab, the shooting range or the changing rooms.

"Gotta help you take him to his cell." With a tiny smile, Soonyoung approaches Wonwoo, still inspecting Mingyu from all angles, not taking care to answer anything. In silence, they both pass one of the wounded's arm above their shoudlers and carry him to the cell number seven. Three persons in it immediately make the air stifling and once Mingyu lied on his bed, Soonyoung leaves to avoid a claustrophobic crisis. _Clic_. The door is closed, the tiny room filled in with Mingyu heavy breaths. "You're lucky we didn't have to bring you to the lock chamber." He's faking sleeping. But Wonwoo doesn't care. He sits at the edge of the ridiculously small bed, turning his back on Mingyu, stares at the ceiling. It doesn't have anything different from his. From what he knows, Soonyoung is the only one to have decorated his cell. Decorated being a way too big word for blood traces representing the solar system.

"Why would you care anyway." That's not even a question. Cause no one cares about anyone down here. At least in appearance. And Wonwoo's heart tightens at Mingyu's cold tone. Still staring at a stain on the dark wall, he shrugs. Keeping the appearance. "I don't want you to die I guess. Just like everyone else." He feels Mingyu groping the thin mattress, looking for his hand, but he ignores him. When their skins finally meet, he takes his hand back, maybe too harshly. "Sometimes I feel like you really don't care about dying." Mingyu chuckles, provoking a violent couching attack, curling on himself, breaking the cold acting of Wonwoo in a million of tiny shards. He turns to Mingyu and worringly puts a hand on his back, gagging at the view of the blood he's spitting. When he calms down and wipes his mouth, Mingyu lies backward again, wincing. He takes a few seconds to breathe normally again and finally looks at Wonwoo, faking a smile on his lips. "How are you? Don't lie to me Mingyu." Closing his eyes, counting his heartbeats. One, two, three, four, five. Again and again, it doesn't stop. Yeah. He's still perfectly alive. Unfortunately. He keeps his eyes closed. He doesn't want to see the pain in Wonwoo's eyes. "I feel like dying a bit more every day. I hope they could let me go in peace. I don't understand why it's so important for them to keep me alive." A burn on his cheek. He opens his eyes. Sees Wonwoo breathing heavily, eyes watering. He puts a hand to his cheek, understands he slapped him. There's nothing more to say. To do. Wonwoo stands up, everything spins around him. Everything but Mingyu. His image is perfectly clear, neat. His impassivity, mainly. Wonwoo opens his mouth to say something, closes it again. There's nothing he wants to say. Oh, yes. "I hate you." He leaves.

Eleven. Eleven times. He tried to kill himself eleven times in seven years. He became more and more creative with the experience. But they never let him go. Not even once he felt like he was close from his goal. That's a thing they, all of them, the thirteen inmates, never understood. How do they do? How do they control things in a way it's impossible for them to give up? He always woke up. And felt nothing but pain, nothing but an even bigger hole in him. It doesn't stop getting bigger. It never stopped. It will never stop. Wonwoo has been there the seven first times, holding his hand when he woke up and understood he failed. But after that, he disappeared. When he came back from the lock chamber, the four last times, he could see the hate in his eyes. But he never understood what caused it. That is the same hate, now, when he leaves him alone in his room.

Too bad this hate can't kill him.

~

His hands are bleeding. Screaming the pain he refuses to feel. But he hits, again and again, he hits that poor punchbag about to break his knuckles. If he stops hitting, if he lets the silence settle in his mind, it's the end. The anger will eat him all. The blood drips on the floor. The sweat, too. His lungs are about to give up. For how long has he been doing that?

"You should at least wear gloves for that. If you break your fingers, you won't be able to train anymore." Chan startles. Breaks his rhythm. Turns to discover Soonyoung, sitting on the bench usually used for the rawing machine. He thought he was alone. Stares at him for a second. Returns to his exercises. Is it even an exercise? More like a getaway. "I'll hit with my feet, then." A giggle. He hears Soonyoung using the machine, behind his back, for a few times. He stops. _Right. Left. Right. Right. Left. Left._ Soonyoung whispers. He can't hear.

"I'm wondering how bright the stars are shining tonight." Louder. He wants Chan to hear. He does. Stays silent for a moment. Hits a few more times. Maybe he can stop, now. Let's try. He can still start again if it burns in him. One. Two. Three. That's it. He stops. Lets the pain invade him, take possession of him. Turns to Soonyoung, who stopped exercising. He didn't even really start. He can't bend his fingers. Hides them in his back. Wipes the blood on his shirt. It burns. "Maybe the stars don't shine anymore. Maybe it's not the night. Maybe stars don't exist." He can hear the sorrow dripping from his mouth. His eyes lie. His lips lie. Soonyoung smiles and he lies. He's a great liar. Even when he reconsiders the existence of his only reason to live. "Of course they still exist. Carry on what you believe in Soon. Don't become a brainwashed idiot." Soonyoung doesn't react to the hidden insult. They're all more or less brainwashed down here and Chan has never tried to hide his belittling for the ones deeply affected. He stands up and softly lifts one of the youngest's hand, insensitive at the way he tenses, and winces at the sight of the destroyed skin. "I better help you take care of that." Chan takes his hand back, hissing between gritting teeth. A wary wild animal. He stares badly at Soonyoung for a second but finally follows him when he understands it wouldn't change anything to resist.

Someone is showering at the back of the changing rooms, steam invading the whole place and making it almost suffocating. Soonyoung rummages through the small medicine cabinet they're provided, letting Chan alone with his thoughts. They're not as dark and heavy as he thought they would be. Maybe his unleashing helped for once. When Soonyoung comes to him, he makes him sit with a nod and delicately takes his right hand to dab it and wipe the blood away. It burns.

"What were you thinking? Hands are useful, you can't afford to break yours, Chan." It's said gently, not with the childish tone they're all usually using with him. Chan's heart doesn't clench like every time someone talks to him. He shrugs, focusing on the magic operating. The red disappears to let nothing but opened pink wounds, neat, precise. "Today's fight tensed me. And since no one treat me as a man there, I have to let it out on my own." One second. Two. Three. Soonyoung stops moving, pensively, and finally bends down to crouch between Chan's legs, resting his arms on his thighs. It doesn't fail to make him freeze and he dives his dark irises deep down in the starry ones, still on the defensive. "What do you mean?" A whisper. The peaceful melody of the water spray still plays as a background music. A ball clogs his throat. He never tells his inner thoughts out loud. That's the deal of inner thoughts. But it would suddenly feel so natural to let them go out, take their freedom and evaporate with the steam. "Y'all ... treat me like a child. Always. Not taking me seriously. It makes me feel so weak when I actually know I'm not." Soonyoung tilts the head, explores his eyes, rests a cheek on his own arm for a few seconds. _I shouldn't have said it. I should've hushed like I always did._ But then, Soonyoung pushes himself closer to Chan, forcing him to spread his legs wider, and lays a hand to his cheek. For a second, he keeps it in the air, his lips corners falling down, but after that, quickly, softly, he caresses the skin no one touched for _years,_ making Chan shiver. "I don't consider you as a kid Chan. Not at all. You're way stronger than us." What's this feeling? Soonyoung takes his hand back and picks up the bandages to end up treating the wounds.

From all the things that could've happened, this one is the least Chan would've expected.

~

It's so relaxing he doesn't even feel the burn on his back. His lungs are filled in with steam, water dripping in his eyes. Getting intoxicated with boiling water, that's the solution to feel, even for a few minutes, like nothing changed. His back still hurts from his fall, his trachea sometimes protests when he tries to swallow his saliva.

 _Clic_. The cabin door opens.

A hand on his throat. Light, delicate.

 _Clic_. The door closes.

An other hand on his shoulder. Makes him turn. Crashes his back against the humid wall. His head hits it too. Seungcheol is already drenched. "Does it hurt?" His voice loses in the sound of water falling on the both of them. Jisoo hushes. Seungcheol presses harder, exactly where his fingers left purple traces a few hours earlier. Jisoo nods. It hurts. Seungcheol withdraws. Jisoo takes his hand to put it on his skin again. His chest, this time. Pulls him closer, tugging on his nape, above the dripping hair. Kisses him. Dances with his tongue. Sticks their bodies together. When Seungcheol slides a hand between them, dangerously going down, he catches it. Twists his wrist in the void. Breaks the embrace. "Don't humiliate me ever again.", whispered warmly against the boiling skin. They could melt from how hot the water is. Disappear in the drain. Never come back. Seungcheol nods. Frees his hand. Touches him. Kisses him. Burns him.

When the kiss reach the water temperature and is not enough anymore, Jisoo's hands slide along Seungcheol's sides. His knees hit the flooring. The cascade flows in his back. A hand rummages through his hair, tugs it when he takes him in. He closes his eyes. Nothing more around him. Just _Seungcheol._ His throat doesn't hurt the same way. He loves that kind of pain. The one when Seungcheol clutches drenched streaks, his palm tightens around his face, his nails clawing skin. The timid complaint of his kneecaps, embedding in the joints of the tiles. The sensation to lose every glimpse of sanity he usually clings on out of the shower cabin, to survive, to keep his head out of the water and not succumb.

Finally, he withdraws with a moan and lies against the wall, sitting down. Wipes his face. Licks his lips and opens his eyes to see Seungcheol bending down, kneeling in front of him with a grin. A caress on his cheek. A hand on his thigh. Lips covering his. Long, slow, warm. Hair delicately swiped backwards.

_Clic._

Nothing. He leaves as he came, silently.

_Clic._

Just the water. Solitude.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ship : jisoo x seungcheol)


	3. Chapter 3

_Journal of Lee Jihoon_

_10th of June 2019 (in theory)_

_353_

_One more week. I have to admit I'm afraid Minghao never comes back. But that wouldn't make sense. Everyone's on edge. It seems like some of us actually understood what Junhui means and started working more to improve. I spend all my time at the lab. Exercise at night or when they're napping or who knows what they're doing when the Room mysteriously empties._

_It seems like Jun's crises phase passed, but now he hushes. Doesn't even take the care to read us the letters or react to them. I hope Minghao comes back soon. Wonwoo doesn't look in the mood to take care of him, and Jisoo is obviously tired of trying to get him talking while brushing his hair. Minghao is the only one who can make things work with Jun. That's a fact we can't deny anymore._

_Mingyu hasn't left his cell. Seokmin experiences new medicines he tries on him, but it doesn't work. Mingyu can't be healed and Seokmin obviously cho_ _oses_ _to ignore it. There's nothing to heal the disease he's suffering from. Just like Soonyoung._

_Boredom really makes me write a lot. I don't have much more blood to write so I better stop now and save it for more important stuff to write down._

_End of today's review._

"Do you miss him?" One hole in the cardboard. Junhui turns to him, disbelief in the eyes. "Who?" Mingyu didn't think he'd respond. Two holes in the cardboard. He puts his riffle down. "Minghao." Junhui looks down, passes a finger on the blade of his arrow, looks at the neat red line it leaves on his skin. _Miss_. He doesn't know what that means. He tastes the word, rolls it on his tongue, says it inwardly to feel how it sounds. Oh. Mingyu is waiting for his answer. He straightens up the head, shakes it. "No." Mingyu shrugs, takes his riffle back. Three holes in the cardboard.

The recognizable swish of the lock chamber doors resonates from the Room. Walking steps sound. Running steps sound. "You're back! Come one we've got a lot to do!"

Seokmin, Wonwoo, Jisoo and Jeonghan all look up from their work when Jihoon drags a livid Minghao in the lab. He can barely stand, translucent, weak. Seokmin is the first one to react and rushes to him with a stool. "Sit down, you're about to fall down." And he does, hopefully on the stool, but for a second they all hold their breath, waiting to see if he passes out. All, except Jihoon, too busy taking out all of his experiments and observations papers to care about Minghao's state. He's silent, hides his face in his palms, brings his knees against his chest. A finger snap could be enough to break him.

"So what do you remember? asks Jihoon, exhilarated, staring at Minghao with the widest smile.

-Maybe we could give him time, no? Minghao are you okay? Jeonghan is given a killing "we don't have time for that" glance from Jihoon and shrugs, giving up.

-I don't remember anything. As usual. How many time Jihoon? How is-

-Okay never mind, so no memory. Nothing new. You've been away for two weeks, undress yourself, time for the inspection."

He would like to protest, to feel embarrassed, to be shocked about the time span of his absence, but he's way too exhausted and used to this ritual. Loosing the sense of time, used as a cavy as soon as he's back for Jihoon and Jeonghan, staying withdrawn and analyzing his behavior. He knows Jihoon won't find anything he could use as proof or hint. Wonwoo leaves the lab with an exasperated sigh, followed by Jisoo, and Seokmin turns his back on him when he shakily takes his shirt off. The least effort is eating his last shares of energy and Jeonghan gets up to do it himself. "Let me help you or we'll still be there tomorrow."

Finally naked, Jihoon makes him stand up to inspect his body from all angles. Even more pale than before, thinner, weaker. The skin grafting, covering a whole side of his body, climbing until his jaw, is getting well. No infection, not too dry. When he's done, Jihoon mumbles while scribbling on the back of the letters from the Highers, what forms his journal. There's a whole chapter reserved for Minghao. Jihoon straightens up the head and makes his subject, almost falling asleep while standing, startle when he breaks the silence that installed. "How many different people did you have sex with since the last time?" Minghao doesn't even feel uncomfortable nor flinch at the question. "You never asked before." Jihoon always finds a new facet he can study. This time, it's sex, obviously. At the back of the lab, Seokmin straightens up the head at the question, Jeonghan fiddles his hair nervously. Jihoon doesn't respond anything to Minghao's statement, just stares at him, patiently waiting for the answer. The subject bends down with a wince to pick up his clothes, puts them back on slowly, taking his time.

"Three."

Seokmin drops his beaker, Jeonghan looks away, Jihoon looks up from his paper, eyes widened. "How is it- wait no, I don't wanna know." It's only when Minghao makes his way to the opened door, a hand still on the wall to prevent a fall that they all notice Junhui's presence. Minghao's dead eyes immediately light up, but his body doesn't follow his reflex to rush to him and he trips on his feet, provoking Junhui to catch him with opened arms. An embarrassed smile stretches Minghao's chapped lips as he straightens up and frees Junhui, still staring at him. "How are you?" The eldest shrugs and surprisingly takes the initiative to pass an arm of Minghao around his shoulders and drag him to his cell. It doesn't take him long to notice the scars next to his ears, bigger than when he left, even extending to his nape. "How did it go? When I was away, I mean. Did something special happen?" Junhui shakes his head, and Minghao knows he's lying. In two years he mastered the art to analyze every single gesture, detail and its meaning. When Junhui answers anything, he lies, otherwise, he hushes. But Minghao still doesn't know the reason why he feels the need to hide some things.

"What happened to your skin? Did they lock you in your cell?"

_I locked myself in it. There was too much noise. Too much, always. I wanted it to stop. I tried to make it stop but it never stops. Never. Never. Never._

He didn't miss his cell. Couldn't, actually. When Junhui pushes the door 13 open, a wave of panic crashes on him. The neon jumps for a few seconds, but when it finally stabilizes, Minghao realizes he doesn't want to get in it. His legs threaten to give up at any instant, his eyelids are heavier with every second that passes, his heart falls asleep. But the fear drowns him whole. It was much better when he was not conscious, used for who knows what, not able to think about his life. He gave up on worrying about what they do to him a long time ago. Tears clog his throat. He doesn't even have the energy nor the strength to let them get out. "Thank you Jun." He's too weak to fight against panic, can't fight. Junhui helps him to lie on his bed and immediately leaves the room with no look back. For a few seconds, Minghao stares at the closed door that he could almost reach from his place, feels the loneliness slowly crashing on him. Tired. He's tired. Wants to sleep. He turns to face the wall and closes his eyes. Slumber. It wraps him, digs its claws deep in his skin, like a promise to never let him go.

But it runs away, startled, when the door opens again. Minghao keeps his eyes shut, stays unaware of who enters his cell. Nothing recognizable in the way the intruder breathes. Oh. Yes, in fact there is. The slight wheezing. From the time he received a hit right on the solar plexus. It never left him since then. Mingyu lies behind him, making the mattress as unsteady as a raft on the raging ocean. He sticks their bodies together, slides a hand to tug his waist closer. Nudges his face in the crown of his neck. Minghao's breath speeds up, his heart races. "How are you?" The warm whisper tickles the skin. The lips brush the skin. But it's never _his_ skin. "I'm tired Mingyu." He'd kill for being able to lie. He doesn't want the warmth to go. But Mingyu stays. Tightens his grip stronger. Intertwines their legs. Kisses the skin. "Stop it." A hand slides under his shirt to finally reach the other side of his body, touch _his_ skin. It burns. Makes the panic blow up when he lifts up the elastic of his underwear. With his last resources, what he still has of strength, Minghao catches the hand and harshly turns back, almost making Mingyu fall off the bed. "I said no." And then he sees. He sees the bruises on his face and how empty his eyes look. How paler his skin got. But Mingyu already stands up. He doesn't want him to get away. He doesn't want to be alone. "Mingyu what happened?" It's getting worse. It's getting so much worse. The countdown doesn't help. Mingyu doesn't respond anything. Keeps staring at him and his hollowed cheeks. He wears his nickname well. Xu Minghao is nothing but the shadow of himself. Mingyu chuckles at how pitiful they both look. Two lost souls. When the real Ghost opens the door, Mingyu finally goes out, shoving Hansol on his way. Baffled, he looks inside, where Minghao has curled up on his bed, looking at where Mingyu was standing a second earlier. "You okay?" He nods. He can't do anything else. He nods and Hansol takes it as an adequate answer, leaving him alone again.

The barrier breaks and nothing more clogs his throat when Minghao finally gives freedom to his tears. These are desperate tears. A cry for help. A beg for someone, anyone to take him out there. But no one can. No one can hear him, no one can actually help him. No one can do anything about him. The sobs twist his stomach, hurts, burns, hits in his head, drowns him.

He has never felt so alone.

~

"Have you thought about the countdown?

-Why would I? sighs Jeonghan, staring at the ceiling, sitting on the lab floor next to Seokmin.

-Some talk about a rebellion. But I know for sure some won't betray the Highers. I think they could even fight against the rebels."

Jeonghan chuckles and stands up, dominating Seokmin from his height, a disdainful smirk stretching his lips. He shakes his head, swiping the air with his ponytail and rubs his face. Annoyance? Anxiety? Seokmin can't tell. There's a glimpse of madness in his eyes when Jeonghan sticks them right in Seokmin's, piercing through his soul. "Seokmin, there's nothing I know how to do. They showed their strength more than once, I'd do nothing but exchange loss if I rebelled." Seokmin hushes, stares at him, taken aback. "But... we already lost everything." A new chuckle, breaking the cold air. Jeonghan is already standing in the door frame when he turns one last time before leaving Seokmin alone :

"I didn't say I wouldn't ally with the rebels. I don't fear dying if it's to save someone else instead."

There has never been any draught down here. The bunker, underground of whatever they're kept in, is so well isolated they shouldn't feel cold or warm. But Seokmin shivers and brings his knees to his chest. _I don't fear dying if it's to save someone else instead._

He's been alone for an hour in the lab when Soonyoung enters, tiptoeing, not noticing his presence. The young man gropes the cabinet where the vials, flasks and jars are settled before taking out a tiny red bottle. He's about to hide it in his pocket when Seokmin clears his throat, attending the scene from the back of the room, making Soonyoung startle and almost drop his spoils. "I wouldn't take it if I was you. Jihoon could kill you, it's all he's got left to write." Tugging on his shirt, at the location of his heart beating crazily, Soonyoung chuckles nervously. "Didn't know you were there." Seokmin stands up and stretches his numb limbs. The stealer puts his treasure back in place and takes a scalpel and an empty vial instead. Seokmin doesn't even have the time to realize what he's doing that Soonyoung already notches his wrist with a used gesture, letting the blood slowly drip in the vessel. The youngest can't repress his gaggle and looks away.

The phrase hasn't stopped spinning in his mind during his time alone. _I_ _don't_ _fear dying if it's to save someone else instead_. Again and again, it harassed him non-stop, kicking him, trying to dig the words deep in himself. Also, the question almost drops from his lips when he finally looks at Soonyoung, carefully aiming the small hole of the flask :

"Do you fear dying Soonyoung?"

He looks surprised for a second, but the next one a smile takes place on his lips and he focuses on his task again.

"Not if it's from Jihoon's hands, he chuckles.

-No. I meant... for real? If you were to die soon ... would- would you be scared?", stutters Seokmin, clenching the jaw to keep the tears inside.

The amusement disappears from Soonyoung's eyes as soon as it came when he notices how down Seokmin looks. He presses a finger on his new scar to stop the blood and approaches, frowning. With his free hand, he takes Seokmin's and shakes his head. "I'm not afraid. I just want to see the sky one last time. That's the only thing I'm scared of, not being able to see the stars before going away." Seokmin nods, clutches Soonyoung's fingers, stares at the thin blood streams escaping the pression. The silence is taking place, wrapping its claws on their shoulders when Soonyoung chases it away, letting go of Seokmin's hand. The smile is back, as fake as always when he asks : "Wanna help me? I remembered another constellation, I want to draw it on the ceiling this time." Again, he nods. Gladly accepts this getaway. Seokmin follows him to the ninth cell.

No one asked back. No one asked Seokmin if he's scared. Afraid. Anxious. About dying. The truth is he's terrified. It keeps him awake at night, too worried about not waking up. He doesn't want to die. _Can't_ die.

~

The headache hasn't left him for days. How many passed since his fight with Seungkwan? He doesn't even count anymore. Doesn't _want_ to count. Because it's happening all over again, the same vicious circle trapping him in every time he approaches the boy. When they were still kids it was easier. There was no pression weighing on them, the weapons cabinets were closed, the letters absent.

But now, there's the countdown, the tension floating in the air, whispering them how less time they have. And _sex._ There has never been any rule down there, never been any attachment nor anything owed to anyone. But the guilt that twisted his stomach when Seungkwan caught him and Minghao in his cell, Hansol can't handle it. He doesn't owe him anything but still, he can't look at him in the eyes, can't make the frustration in his heart get away.

The irritation is at its climax when Hansol leaves his cell, ready to unleash his anger on an innocent cardboard in the shooting range. But Seungkwan happens to be standing in the Room. Seungkwan is there and happens to ask if anyone would like to practice knife fight with him. Seungkwan happens to ask if anyone would like to train with him _Hansol's_ speciality. And Hansol happens to be there. "Me." It burns his throat. For how many time has he kept hushing? Maybe it hurts even more because it's Seungkwan. Maybe it hurts even more because he looks at him with the expression that paints his eyes every time something unexpected happens. Maybe it hurts even more because he looks at him as if nothing happened and as if he broke his heart at the same time.

The boys present in the Room gradually leave them alone, on the ring, daggers in hand. They don't talk. They don't touch each other. Keep on turning around each other, waiting for the right moment to swoop on their opponent. When they're finally alone, a burning hits Seungkwan's cheekbone and already, blood is flowing. What doesn't fail to make his wrath blow up. Not knowing that Hansol lets him do it, doesn't defend himself, he tackles him and jumps at his throat, keeping his blade so, so close from his jaw. Hansol's back hits the floor, Seungkwan stays astride above him, hand shaking from anger. He can't handle Hansol's gaze. This expression of always being sorry but never saying anything. These untold apologies. These untold worries. Always untold. He'd kill to hear his voice more often. He'd kill to sweep away these things in his eyes. But Hansol never speaks. Hansol never acts. Hansol never gets rid of all these untolds.

Suddenly, Seungkwan feels a spike tickling between two ribs. His scar. It already pierced the thin fabric of his turtle neck, is already in contact with the puffy skin, already opens the gates to his panic, inviting it with open arms. Panic, and tears, too. Hansol knows where to push, to touch to make him flinch. This scar reminds Seungkwan of the very first time he needed Hansol. Of the very first time this suffocating sensation of not being able to live without him manifested. And of the very first time he fell, alone.

This light contact is enough to pull the trigger in him. Enough to destroy his composure and deploy the tears that have been clogging his throat for _years._ Hansol's hand falls aside as he widens the eyes, and he finds himself lifted up, collar desperately grabbed by both of Seungkwan's hands, tears falling on him. "Why do you always run away?!" He doesn't understand. Feels so helpless in front of Seungkwan's despair. Eyes closed, he shakes him, tightening his sweater so strong it could tear apart. "Why do you never try to hold me back?!" Hansol feels like being on a boat, fighting against a storm of shame and guilt, about to fall overboard at any moment. He has never seen Seungkwan in that state in seven years, tears destroying his face, an endless sorrow running through his veins. A sob makes him let go of his grip, letting Hansol fall on his elbows, still trying to understand what's happening. When Seungkwan opens his eyes to look at him, there's no trace of anger. Wrath nor hate.

"Why do you never hold me back Hansol? Why can't you just ask me how I am? So that I can tell you how bad I feel and you can take me in your arms."

That's the moment he definitely breaks down. Bursting into sobbing, covering his face with his palms, his whole body shaking. It takes Hansol a few more seconds to feel the wave of Seungkwan's sorrow reaching him. A few more seconds to understand what he has to do, and what he should've done so much earlier. He slowly takes his legs back to kneel in front of Seungkwan and after a blink of hesitation, he wraps his arms around him, rubbing his back, leaning the head against his. "I'm sorry."

Three words. Three words and still, it's enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi dear! as you may have noticed if you've read the fic from the beginning, i've finally decided to tag a main ship. why? because as i'm writing the next chapters, i realised junhao is really the main theme of this fic, and it's the one i want to explore the most. thank you for understanding, and thank you for reading! take care <3
> 
> (ships : minghao x mingyu  
> seungkwan x hansol  
> mention of hansol x minghao)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi folks~
> 
> i know it's been a kinda long time since i last updated this story, and i'm sorry about it. writing has been a bit hard for me these last days and i had to reconsider a lot of things concerning my habits and what i really want to/like to do. 
> 
> so i'm back with this chapter! two others will follow soon, and after that... well, i don't know. maybe i'll stop, maybe i'll continue, that's a mystery for now! if you like this fic, please let me know and maybe it'll tip the balande :)
> 
> as usual, take care and don't forget to let a kudo if you'd like ♡

_Journal of Lee Jihoon_

_3rd of July 2019 (in theory)_

_I think there's no need to count the days anymore. It'll happen on the 29th of May 2020, it's useless to add this stressing countdown more._ _"_ _It_ _"_ _. We're all afraid to talk about it. But we'll soon have to. I think two groups already formed, silently, without consultation. The ones who will obey, and the ones who will rebel. But I'm lost. Terribly lost. I don't know what to do, what to think. I've always been the one who stays aside, observes, takes note. Never the one who takes decisions nor acts. I prefer to wait and see. As always. Time will help me._

_End of today's review._

It took time to dry the tears. On the inside. Sweep the sorrow away. Be able to ignore it, keeping it in the corner of his mind. Because you can never get rid of it, never erase it. Once with you, sorrow always stays. It _never_ goes away.

It also took time to recover. Regain strength and dare to leave his cell to train again. Once, Junhui opened the door, stared at him for a few seconds, silently, and closed it again. That's the first time he felt adrenaline again. He doesn't know why, but he did. And he remembered that he needed to train again, he needed to come back to take care of Jun. Even if it took longer than usual.

What helped him was the time Seokmin came. He was shy, as usual, afraid to bother him, but Minghao couldn't hold back his smile and it immediately comforted his visitor. It was warm. Pleasant. Comforting. Minghao has never been embarrassed to cry with Seokmin. And Seokmin has never shown any kind of annoyance at his tears. They hugged for what seemed to be hours, not caring about their limbs becoming numb, their shoulders getting mutually soaked with tears. A nest, a bubble of peace, of relaxation, just for them, for a handle of time. When Seokmin left, tears dried, smile back, the place next to him on the bed empty, Minghao felt born again. He understood he could always find a piece of the least of happiness they can get down there next to someone, he could always lean on someone's shoulder, there would always be someone for him.

And that's the most he ever got, even when he was outside.

~

A fight, again. There's a lot of fights these days. Jeonghan and Mingyu about the ring timetable, ending up training together -fighting with bare hands. Ridiculous. There has never been any schedule for using the ring. The other day, it was Jihoon and Soonyoung, about the blood Soonyoung overused "uselessly". Soonyoung ended up crying and Chan yelled at Jihoon. There has been Wonwoo and Junhui, too. Kind of unexpected since they all try to not argue with the place master, knowing it would be useless. But Wonwoo has never feared to fight with him. What was it about? Oh, yeah. Junhui wanted to scold Wonwoo for not training enough, but he defended himself, what led to a crisis from Junhui who locked himself in his cell, not failing to make Minghao worry and be blamed for being too kind with him.

And today, Seungkwan and Chan. Well. Hansol sighs at the view of the two stubborn ones. Chan used one of the eldest's gun without asking. Chan _dared_ to touch Seungkwan's only treasure. They'll come to blows, for sure. For now, Hansol just sits in the corner of the shooting range. No one noticed him. Not even Mingyu, watching the argument too, exasperation painted all over his face. "It's not because you're the last one that you can do whatever you want! Stop acting like a kid!" Seungkwan is out of himself. The vein on his neck is pulsating crazily. And Chan's reaction to what he just said won't help. The young boy clenches his fists, eyes filling in with an uncontrollable wrath. It takes him a second to weigh pros and cons before finally throwing a fist at Seungkwan's cheekbone, catching his colar with his free hand. "Say it again! Dare to say it again! Who's the kid Seungkwan?!" Hansol's first thought is : _It shouldn't be rage in his eyes. He should be terrified._ And his worries confirm when Seungkwan tries to hit Chan's stomach with his knee but gets thrown on the floor instead with a low whimper. Chan now circles his opponent's throat with both of his hands, obviously loosing it. When Seungkwan's eyes loose their focusing on Chan's face, Hansol decides it's enough and pushes the Blaze aside with a simple kick under the ribs.

A deep inspiration. A coughing. Two coughing. Seungkwan comes back to life. Hansol is punched in the face and falls on Seungkwan. Mingyu screams. Chan stands up, ready to fight everyone else. Soonyoung appears from nowhere. Him and Chan disappear.

Hansol instinctively curls up on Seungkwan to protect him, even if the danger's away, and Seungkwan naturally lays a hand to his already redened cheekbone. Mingyu, still there, stares at them for a moment and finally gives up on his shooting session. "Are you okay?", whispers Hansol, worringly, unable to not widen his eyes at the view of blood in Seungkwan's eyes. But against all expectations, he smiles and nods, hiding the fact that he can't talk, and wraps his arms around his savior's nape. After a short but exceedingly long second, he pulls Hansol closer in a kiss, getting a tiny whine of surprise.

So that's what it is to ask the right question.

~

"Why did you do that?! Let me get out!

-No."

Soonyoung is blocking the way, peacefully observing the bare walls of the thirteenth cell. He never entered in this one. He never had a reason to. He rarely enters someone else's cell anyway, it makes it a too small room for two persons. The only cell he's comfortable to be with more than a person in it is his. Because there's the stars. _His_ stars. His attention comes back to Chan when he strongly takes his shoulder to make him move aside. But his own hand comes to hold him back, catching his wrist, a smile stretching his lips when Chan notices his strength and slightly loosens his grip. "What do you think I occupy my insomnia?" It's amusing. Noticing how little people know him. The strong grip turns in a light hold as a chuckle escapes from him. With a frown, Chan sharply takes his hand back to slam it against the door, forcing Soonyoung to stick to it.

"Do you think it's a game Soonyoung? Do you think it's funny for me to be humiliated at the simple fact of _breathing_?

-There's other ways to deal with that Chan. You're not forced to always-

-I thought you were on my side. Seems like I was wrong. As always. I'm all alone here. Now, move the fuck aside, I have a fight to end."

The words burn his chest as if coals were thrown right into it. Soonyoung's smile fades, his heart tightens. When Chan's hand slides down to take the knob, he catches it again. He can't let him go. He can't let him leave this room thinking he's alone. He can't let him going out of here just like that. It takes him a fraction of second to gather enough courage and intertwine their fingers, not letting time for Chan to react and he slightly leans down to steal him a kiss.

The next second, Chan is alone in his cell, his hand hanging in the void. The blaze is extinguished. But there's a burning, on his lips. It wasn't there when they were covered with Soonyoung's. It didn't hurt when Soonyoung was there.

~

Mingyu barges in the lab like a hurricane, exploding the peaceful silence settled in as he slams the door open. Jeonghan wakes up from his nap on Jisoo's lap, who was vainly stitching up a sweatshirt. Jihoon grumbles as he quickly eyes the intruder, Seokmin hopefully catches the vial he was holding before it falls on the floor. And Wonwoo, him, puts his wires down with a heavy sigh and straightens up, ready to scold Mingyu. But he doesn't even gift him a look and immediately rushes to Jeonghan, still sleepy, slowly breaking the contact between him and Jisoo. "Where's the product? Where is it? The thing to clean the riffle?!" It sounds like a urge, like if Mingyu doesn't get his product something will explode. Him, maybe. Confused, Jeonghan waves at a glazed cabinet, getting nothing but a draft from Mingyu who rushes to it and immediately leaves the lab with no look back after getting what he was looking for. While everyone goes back to their activities, Wonwoo can't help but feel an unexpected irritation growing up in him. An abstract of the last weeks scroll through his mind. All these times Mingyu ignored him. Treated him like he's nothing. But also these times he looked at him as if he had things so important to tell him. All these times he hushed. All these times he electrified him by skimming him. All these times he got away. Again. And again.

Wonwoo gets down his stool and follows the Hawk in the Room, where he's escaping to his cell. "Mingyu!" He doesn't turn back. His nails are already digging in his skin. His breathing already getting faster. His head already spinning. He's already tired. The seventh door closes in a slam but he doesn't make long to open it again to lock him and Mingyu in it. But he was _not_ ready for what he finds.

With the years, Jeon Wonwoo, Little Boy, the second inmate, mastered everything there is to know about bombs. The most famous ones, their components, their uses, the history of their development. He created some, too. But he never had to defuse one. _Never._

He's lost. So lost. Helpless. He can see the pain on Mingyu's face. He can _read_ it. Can distinguish it through his shaky fingers hastily, wildly polishing the barrel of his riffle. But the hands skid, the hands tense up too strong, the hands drop the weapon. Mingyu is curled up in the corner of his tiny cell, Mingyu's face is devastated with pain, Mingyu is being tortured, Mingyu is fighting against something Wonwoo can only imagine. And Wonwoo doesn't know what to do. He came to fight, to argue. But the pain filling in the room soon enough reaches him, contaminates him and clenches his heart. When a dry sob rips the air and Mingyu throws his head against the wall, closing his eyes as if trying to chase the pain away, Wonwoo takes down the small distance separating them with a step and falls on his knees. Laying a hand, keeping it in the air, not knowing what to do. Being the powerless spectator of Mingyu's struggle. Whispering his name, thousands of light-years from the way he screamed it not even a minute ago. His voice shakes. His heart hurts. "Mingyu..." Again. His voice breaks. Should he touch him? Should he leave him alone? Is he even aware of his presence? About to call him a third time, Mingyu finally puts an end to his doubts, throwing himself in his arms. It's not an embrace. It's a grip, a way to not drown. It hurts him. Mingyu's nails dig in Wonwoo's skin despite the clothes. Wonwoo hesitantly wraps his arms around his waist, lets Mingyu tighten him so strong he starts lacking of oxygen.

Sometimes, in his dreams, Wonwoo sees his last day again. His last day _alive._ The sunset, the waves caressing his feet. The sand, melting under steps as he's running after a crab. It was hot, but not too much. A comfortable heat. He never felt this heat again. He was a boy of Summer, like his mother used to call him. But today, there's something else he remembers. The sea stars. They were clinging on rocks, struggling to keep their place out of the salty water licking them. It was a hard fight, but they did it. They kept out of the ocean, to the shore, far from the dark abysses and mysteries of the water. The rocks couldn't do anything but being an anchor point for the sea stars. Wonwoo feels like the rock. Mingyu clings on him like his life. Mingyu clings on him to not be dragged to the darkness of the ocean.

Wonwoo lays a hand to stroke his hair, whispers his last memory from his mother.

_Good will come to you._  
_You can do it, you can reach the light._  
_You can smile, you can succeed._  
_Good will come to you._  
_But you won't be alone._  
_You will always have my hand,_  
_I'll be right there._  
_Waiting to catch you if you trip._  
_I won't let you drown, I won't let you down._  
_Don't worry my son, good will come to you._

At some point, he notices the tears on his cheeks. At some point, Mingyu stops shaking. At some point, the nails withdraw. And at some point, he realizes the lyrics were not exactly these ones. He realizes he doesn't remember the original lullaby. He realizes he transformed it, and changed his only memory in the thing _he_ needed to hear.

It's cold when Mingyu's arms release him. It's cold when Mingyu breaks his grip. It's cold when Mingyu looks at him. As cold as his eyes look empty. Wonwoo takes his hand back from his hair, taking down the last contact they had. Cold invades him. Nothing like the soothing heat on the beach. The sea star doesn't need him anymore. The waves calmed down. The rock is useless. But the salt infiltrated his grooves. It's still there, this feeling of water trying to take the sea stars away. And it hurts. It hurts because it shouldn't. It hurts because the sea stars don't need him and yet he still wants them to do. Mingyu's pain penetrated his gears and every move reminds him of it. Of the pain. That isn't even his. In silence, Wonwoo stands up under Mingyu's empty look. He never needed him when he wasn't in pain. Wonwoo is always there for Mingyu. But Mingyu never asked anything from him. If Wonwoo doesn't come for Mingyu, Wonwoo doesn't exist. It has always been like that. Wonwoo is just a crying shoulder and nothing else. His hand is already on the door knob when he hears Mingyu standing up too. He waits, back on him. He waits but doesn't know for what. It could be anything, in fact. He just _needs_ something to happen. But it doesn't. Nothing happens and Wonwoo disappears.

Once again.

~

It's a day without, he guesses. From the moment he opened his eyes in the morning, his mind has been screaming to go back to bed and sleep til tomorrow. But it would be too easy. If it was only his mind, he could've listened to it. But there's his consciousness, too, blaming him for his lack of activity, his irresponsibility towards the tasks he imposes himself.

So he's there. Where he would forcefully have ended anyway.

There once was a time when the simple sound of water flowing would appease him. But now, he has to wait until he can't move anymore, frozen, to feel a difference. It feels like the defeaning stream constantly flows in him, it became a part of him. His knees never get rid of the grooves caused by the tiling. His back adopted the curve of always being curled on himself.

There he is. His fingers are tinted with the familiar blue color of the cold, he feels his throat hoarse and joints numb. He needs to keep on staring at the drops dripping from his hair. If he closes his eyes, he sees it again. The flames, eating everything, destroying everything. Reaching _him._ Drip. Drop. The burning climbs on him. Drip. Drop. He wants to scream. Drip. Drop. He passes out, but the pain is still there. Drip. Drop. The drops, he needs to focus on the drops.

He somehow hears the shower cabin door opening, far, far away. "It's too cold." Whose voice is it? The fire licks his ear. Drip. Drop. "You'll get sick." Junhui. The skin isn't his. Drip. Drop. "Stop that." He turns the tap off. Where is he? Drip. Drop. The last ones. He already feels the warmth shrouding him. _Leave me alone. The cold. I need the cold._ That's what he'd want to say. That's what he'd want to scream. But nothing comes out his throat. He can't move, he can't speak. A towel on his back. Warmth. Bip. Bip. The machines. The tears. The pain. Two hands under his armpits. Bip. Bip. Bip. He's alone. The pain. Always the pain. He leaves the cabin. The towel is wrapped all around him. The warmth. The pain. Someone rubs his back. The warmth. No more bip. He shivers when the hand passes above the pain. The warmth. "It's dangerous. Very dangerous. It's too cold. You should be careful." The warmth. Where is he? Ah. He feels his limbs again. He could move. He could get away. The warmth. The pain went away. How? The hands keep on rubbing his back. The warmth. He sneezes. Junhui smiles. He's with Junhui. He's never seen Junhui smiling before. He puts an other towel on his head, dries his hair. The warmth. The tiling is almost comfortable. The warmth is not painful. His fingers can bend again. He takes a hand out of the towel, lays it to take a streak of Junhui's hair. It needs to be cut again. It reaches his shoulder. Junhui doesn't like it when it's too long. But he doesn't like cutting it himself. He could hurt himself. Junhui masters archery and knife fights but could hurt himself with scissors. He could, or maybe _Minghao_ just takes it as a pretext to do it himself. "It's too long." Junhui nods. He knows it. But he never asks for cutting it. He keeps on heating Minghao up. His hand comes caressing his nape but Junhui doesn't react. He's not used to that. It tickles, bothers, but he doesn't react. If Minghao wants to do it, he can.

"Don't get sick." Minghao's eyes widen at the hearing of Chinese. His fingers curl up behind Jun's nape, tightening a streak. His purple lips form a smile. He shakes the head. He's taken by a shiver, coughs. Takes his hand back to hide his mouth. He's tired. The warmth tires him. His eyes close naturally. But he mustn't sleep. He musts stay awake. He wants to look at Junhui. He wants to see it by himself, to know he's not dreaming. But his eyes close. The slumber wins.

At some point, it seems like he's lifted up, still wrapped in warm towels. It seems like they leave the changing rooms. He can hear Junhui's heart beating. They're all wrong. He's got a heart. He's not a robot. Someone asks if he's okay. Seokmin, maybe. Jun nods, it shakes his head, lying against his chest. It seems like he puts him on his bed with a delicacy he didn't know to him. It seems like after covering him with a blanket, Junhui caresses his forehead. And it seems like when he leaves, the warmth leaves with him. And for once, he misses the warmth.

It seems like a dream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ships : seungkwan x hansol  
> soonyoung x chan  
> mention of minghao x seokmin)


	5. Chapter 5

_Yoon Jeonghan._

_Day 1333._

_Finally, Alleluia, I'm allowed to use his precious sheets. Hopefully he's sick, so Jihoon won't see how many I use. I'm really bored these days, I don't know what to do, who to stay with. I'm really confused about this damn countdown, and sadly Seokmin seems to think I'm the good confidant to talk about it._

_Today is Wonwoo's birthday, and this leads to my latest observations. I've been focusing on something my teachers would probably have killed me for, but since I probably won't see them ever again, why not doing it?_

_Mourning stages. Of course, many of them are already at the last one, acceptance, but there's some other really interesting cases. I still blame my lack of cohesion when I write my observations but anyway, no one will read them, right? I'll just list the inmates, the stages they're at and my eventual observations._

_Wen Junhui, the Robot: of course he's far ahead the acceptance. I don't even know if he remembers his past life._

_Jeon Wonwoo, Little Boy : he's the perfect exemple of the transitional phase just before the acceptance. I think it still hurts for him to admit the fact his past life is definitely behind him, but he's obviously out of depression, and he already was when I arrived. I don't even think he went through the 4th stage._

_Choi Seungcheol, the Beast : acceptance, with no doubt. Stage 5. He's fully devoted to the Heirs and has forgotten everything about before. I sometimes want to punch him right in the face to make him wake up, but that wouldn't be moral. And I would probably die. As a psychologist I'm supposed to support him rather than blame him._

_Lee Seokmin, the Witch : he's one of the strangest and most interesting case. I don't really feel like he's following the same process than the others. He seems to be trapped in an endless fear that keeps him away from mourning. I could say he's at the first stage and is denying the truth, but that would be wrong. He's just... tracing his own path trough this jail._

_Boo Seungkwan, the Gun : I think he's lost between the second and third stage, struggling to get out get rid of his anger, he wants to reach the bargaining stage. It could bring him peace and I truly think he needs it. Maybe his obvious reconciliation with Hansol will help._

_Chwe Hansol, the Ghost : 5th stage, nothing to say. Sometimes I'd like to know what's in his mind, he's unreadable._

_Kim Mingyu, the Hawk : 4th stage, depression. I did my best to help him, and I'm sad to admit it but I think there's nothing we can do for him._

_Hong Jisoo, the Cat : I-DON'T-KNOW. Jisoo is my biggest weakness, the ball to my foot. I can't analyze anything about him, can't think correctly when he's around. He always seems so dreamy, so far away, sometimes I'm wondering if he's really with us._ _I'm too involved to be able to give a proper analysis._

_Kwon Soonyoung, the Star : 4th stage too. Just like Mingyu, I think there's nothing we can do, except keeping him company, and most of all retain him from hurting himself. A second of inattention and he already has a scalpel in hand._

_Lee Jihoon, the Brain : firstly, I think he'd kill me if he knew I'm using papers to write all of this, so I'm not going to risk my life and write about him. Plus, I think he and I are the only ones to keep a distance from all of that. Jihoon, if you read that, forgive me please. I'll give you all the blood you want to be forgiven._

_Me, Yoon Jeonghan, the Soul : I still hate this nickname. Just like I hate the Highers and everything about this place. I can't assign myself any stage. I'm not in the process._

_Lee Chan, the Blaze : 2nd stage, for sure. I've never seen so much anger boiling in someone. I hoped there was something to do with him but he seems to be keeping us away at all costs. He not only hates this place, but I think he hates us too._

_Xu Minghao, the Shadow : another interesting case, 1st stage. He's still in the denial, that's obvious. He still has hopes to get out someday, to come back to his life. At least that's what I think. I don't talk much with him. But maybe I should, his mind seems to be abounding with so much things, I'd like to know more about him. Most of all, I'd like to know what happened to him._ _This grafting is really something._

_I've already used four pages so I'm going to stop there or else I'll really get killed._

_How does Jihoon say? End of today's review._

Mourning.

He never really had to grieve for anyone, even though he grew up hand in hand with death. It was always there, his only companion, the only witness of his tears, late at night, in a cushion. Xu Minghao grew up with the concept of mourning but still never felt it. Every day, there was this reminder that he was _alone._ Nobody waiting for him after school, no one worrying for him when he came back from the doctor. And then, no one to pay the doctor. The therapist. He was alone again. Just the other orphans, mocking him, hitting him. He would have liked to be _really_ alone. At least he wouldn't have had to fake being okay just to be less bullied. When he left the orphanage to join university, it was the biggest relief of his whole life, a burden less on his chest.

But then, it burnt. For months, he feared to be alone again. That his wishes from before had been granted. Alone with the machines and the pain. At that time, he told himself he liked the bullies much more. But there was just the machines. And the pain. Nothing but that.

"Minghao? Minghao what are you doing?" Coming back to reality, Minghao blinks a few times to realize he's not alone. No pain, no machine. Jisoo is staring at him with a weird smile, and when he looks down to his hands, he realizes he was sharpening the void instead of his blades. A forced smile, a forced chuckle, and Jisoo leaves.

Mourning.

He heard Jeonghan talking about it. He likes to listen to conversations from the other side of the door. There are always interesting conversations going on in the lab. But he likes to keep his distance. Muffled voices, no faces. Just like he used to listen to the radio to rock himself to sleep. A sizzling, blurred, far away. So, mourning. He heard Jeonghan talking about it. He understood what he would have been supposed to feel. Or maybe not. He understood he was not like he should. He never felt the pain due to death. He never felt the absence. Someone told him once there was a difference between feeling absence or solitude. Absence means missing the presence of someone, solitude means suffering from the fact of being alone. He knows for sure solitude has been keeping him company for a long, long time. Death on one hand, solitude on the other.

Here, they're not only holding his hands, they're digging their claws on his shoulders. Whispering to him they're his only friends. What keeps him away from the others. When he sleeps with someone, they're just behind him, waiting until the boy leaves to take their places back. That's why he nevers frequents the others out of his room. The others. He can't call them differently. Because they're all the same. From each one of them, they're the others. The only thing linking them. He lets them coming to his room, he never takes the first step. Because he knows death and solitude would hold him back, and he doesn't want to feel that sensation. So, when Hansol stopped coming, he did nothing. When Mingyu stopped coming, he did nothing. At least there's still Seokmin. But he wouldn't do anything if he stopped coming,

But it's different with Junhui. When he's around, death and solitude disappear. When he's around, Minghao can act as he wants. He can do what he doesn't dare with the others. Junhui never comes, but if he did and stopped, he would do something. Maybe death and solitude fear Junhui. Because he's not like the _others_.

With Junhui he wants to be a better person. Forgets he grew up with death and solitude. Forgets they're all trapped here. Forgets everything that happened to him.

"Can you cut my hair?" He drops his knife, looks up, eyes widening. Looks around to assure he's awake, finally lets himself believing Jun is really facing him, waiting for an answer. Finally believing Jun consciously came to him. Junhui blinks a few times, standing awkwardly in front of him. He shakes a streak of his hair, blinks again. "My hair. Can you cut it?" Finally. Minghao reacts, picks up his dagger, nods. When he gets up, his head bumps in Junhui's chest and he lets out the weirdest cackle while rubbing his skull. Jun just shrugs and makes his way to the changing rooms. "Be careful", he says while holding the door.

No one taking a shower. No freezing nor boiling water. Just the silence, Minghao, and Junhui. In silence, Junhui sits on a bench. In silence, Minghao takes the scissors out. _Clic. Clic._ The silence is broken with the only chisel rattling. Theirs breaths, too. Serene for Minghao, flustered for Junhui. _Clic. Clic._ The streaks fall on the floor, the clatter goes on, one's breath settles down. "Thank you. For the other day, with the shower." A slight spurt, a few discordant heartbeats. Junhui lays a hand to his shorter hair, sticks his eyes in Minghao's. "You were hurting yourself. You shouldn't hurt yourself." The gaze unsettles him. He'd like to hold it, but Minghao looks away to his slightly shaking hands. "But you do it too. Hurting yourself." Junhui shrugs, Minghao has to put a hand on his ear to not cut it and meets the frozen wounded skin. He hasn't seen him scratching himself lately, but the marks are still fresh. Suddenly, he feels the urge to meet his eyes again, and this time he holds the gaze when he does. "Maybe we could help each other to not hurt ourselves. What do you think?"

 _Help. Each other._ He's not used to hear these words. Even less to do something related to them. An acrid taste fills in his mouth at the blurred memory of these words. Junhui doesn't care about hurting himself. Sometimes it makes him feel better. Sometimes it just stops him from getting worse. Sometimes it's just mechanical. He doesn't care about hurting himself, but doesn't want to see Minghao doing it too. Minghao hurting Minghao, not Minghao hurting Junhui. Maybe it wouldn't be bad, he never tested. Oh, yeah. In fact he did. The time they were practicing close fight and Minghao left bruises that stayed for weeks on his skin. He didn't tell him. He won the fight anyway, ending it with Minghao's throat trapped under both of his hands, ready to tighten. But it was not the same kind of pain Junhui does to himself. Minghao clears his throat. Oh. Yeah. Helping each other to not hurt ourselves. What does _ourselves_ mean? From how far he can remember, there has never been an _us_ in Junhui's life. It's always _me_ , and _them_. Helping each other to not hurt ourselves. He doesn't care about hurting himself. But he doesn't want to see Minghao doing it too. "Okay", he blows. A smiles stretches Minghao's lips. His fingers are still on his ear. He doesn't dislike it. Weirdly. Minghao's smile is something unusual. Like everything related to Minghao. Junhui doesn't smile. Never. But once, he did. He doesn't know why, but he smiled. Minghao is different. Minghao is kind to him. Minghao never gets angry with him. Minghao never calls him The Robot. Minghao cuts his hair. Sometimes, Wonwoo or Jeonghan try to do it too, but they always do it bad.

Minghao is different.

 _Okay_. He said okay. Junhui agreed. And Minghao feels happy. He feels happiness filling in his heart. For the first time in years. He doesn't even remember the last time he felt happiness. He can't stop smiling. Can't unhear Junhui's answer. _Okay_. While looking straight into his eyes.

 _Okay_.

~

"Has anyone seen Soonyoung today?" No one answers. Cause no one did. Calm down. He must contain his anger, not let it blow up just for that. A few weeks earlier, he wouldn't have cared. Chan checks the changing rooms, the lab. He can't be at the shooting range. He concludes Soonyoung is in his cell. Unusual. Soonyoung never stays in his cell. He hates being alone, he hates staying locked in. Not knowing why, not trying to understand it either, Chan's heart races too fast. He can hear his own heartbeats. Something's wrong. No one pays attention to him when he opens the eighth cell door, silently, shyly. Shy. That's a sensation he hasn't felt for a long time. A really long time. He clenches the fist at the memory of his mother. Not blow up. Not blow up and stay calm.

In the cell, no trace of life, at first sight. Lights off, silence. But Chan distinguishes a silhouette on the bed, wrapped in the thin blanket. He closes the door and end up in the dark, slowly starting to hear a heavy breathing and see the shadow shake. "Soon?" He hasn't called him like that since _the_ day. Hasn't talked to him, in fact. He didn't know what to do. What to say. What to feel. He never felt so helpless in his whole life. The silhouette moves a bit, but still doesn't uncover. "Soonyoung? Are you okay?" The blanket is slightly pulled aside, only to let appear a head. Soonyoung is shaking. He coughs, whispers "It's so cold", coughs again. Chan approaches, kneels in front of the bed, lifts up Soonyoung's bangs to touch his forehead. He's burning hot. "It's so cold." Talking seems to cost him a lot. Chan doesn't even know if Soonyoung sees him. If he's aware of his presence. "Soon, you've got a fever." _He probably knows, idiot_. A thrill runs through him, makes him curl on himself even more.

He doesn't let his helplessness grow bigger and gently pushes Soonyoung aside to lie on the bed, next to him. Chan covers the both of them to create a cocoon and lets the heat invade it. Soonyoung doesn't last to cuddle against him, not failing on making Chan blush. Something else he hasn't felt for a long time. But unexpectedly, that doesn't make him furious. Unexpectedly, it amplifies on making his heart flutter. Is that a smile on his face? Where is the hate? Soonyoung shivers and Chan instinctively wraps an arm around him, reducing the space between them even more. "You're warm." He is. He is suffocating under this blanket, but he wouldn't move for anything in the world.

"Chan?" Chan opens his eyes, lost. The hand on his chest withdraws and he suddenly realizes where he is. With _who_. Soonyoung straightens up, freeing himself from Chan's embrace, eyes widened. For how long have they been sleeping? He doesn't know what to do. What to say. What to feel. It's always the same old merry-go-round. But a timid thing, he couldn't exactly put a finger on what it is, tries to forge itself a place in Chan's mind, grows bigger in him. When he sees Soonyoung's redened cheek from his sleep against him and his sleepy look, the thing manifests itself. It wants attention. It wants Chan to notice something. "W-w-what are you doing Chan?", stutters Soonyoung. He has never seen Soonyoung stuttering. Soonyoung is confident, Soonyoung is determinate when he talks, Soonyoung knows what he wants to say. But right now, he realizes he doesn't know Soonyoung so well. "I... hum. I... You said you were cold. Because of... because of the fever. So I thought..." If he had to describe himself, Chan would say he's confident too. In general, when he has to say something, he says it. When he wants to do something, he does it. But maybe he doesn't know himself so well. Soonyoung suddenly gets carried away and puts distance between them, avoiding his eyes. "I said that... I... okay. Thanks. Thank you Chan."

 _He's embarrassed. I_ _should_ _never_ _have_ _come here. It's not me. I never do this kind of thing. What's happening to me?_ Chan gets up, hides his burning cheeks from Soonyoung's sight, takes a step to the door. But Soonyoung catches his wrist, softly, gently, delicately. It's more a caress than a grip. Chan stops, still turning his back on him. "About the other day. About what I did. Sorry." An unexpected pinch hurts Chan's heart. Everything about Soonyoung is unexpected. He's starting to think it was just a stupid game. A bet, a whim, a joke. The Chan he thought he was would never have done that, but he turns to Soonyoung. Now that he's further, the only thing he sees in the darkness are his starry eyes. He always thought they had something special, beautiful. And they do. But suddenly, he thinks it's dangerous to think that way. His voice is unsteady when he breaks the silence, frees his hand. "So, you didn't mean it? It was just fake? To keep me away from Seungkwan?" He doesn't want to sound so vulnerable. He hates looking so weak. The old Chan wasn't like that. This place changed him. So much. The two galaxies flounder, Soonyoung shakes his head, kneels on the bed to reach Chan's height. He's close again. Chan can see the corners of his lips falling down. Soonyoung hesitates a moment, shakes his head again, catches both of his hands. This time, Chan doesn't free himself. Hope. That's the thing. The thing trying to make itself a place in him. He's hoping. For what, that's another question. But he's hoping, and that's already a lot.

"No Chan! Don't think that, please. I just... I don't want you to feel forced to anything or... I... I don't know what you feel but... I... I meant it. Sincerely." Flutters. Everywhere. Invading himself. Tickling his fingertips, twisting his stomach, pleasantly heating up the areas Soonyoung is touching. "That was my first kiss. I've never kissed anyone before. I don't know what to do." It slipped. Just got out of his mouth in the most natural way. Soonyoung has this ability to make him talk. For the two years he has been there, Chan has never talked a lot. Has always kept what he thinks for himself. But with Soonyoung, it comes naturally. He can see the corners of his lips going up in a smile. It is cute. Cute? Oh. He thinks Soonyoung is cute. And Soonyoung wanted to kiss him. So he did. Well. Lots of new informations. A shiver runs along his arms when Soonyoung intertwines their fingers. "The question is, did you like it? Would you like to... do it again?" Ah. Oh. He's terrified. Petrified, suddenly. His inner child, who he was before landing in here, comes back in a hurry. He used to hide behind his mother when he was scared, but today he can't anymore. So he just nods, clutches Soonyoung's fingers. He nods and Soonyoung's smile grows bigger as he leans forward, stays so close his breathing brushes Chan's face. He waits, still smiling, still holding his hands. Chan's heart has never beaten so fast. Let's try, he thinks. Closing his eyes, tightening Soonyoung's hands like a lifeline, he takes down the distance and kisses him. Meets his lips, tastes them. It's sweet. It's pleasant. He likes it.

Soonyoung lets go of one of his hand to put it behind his nape, pull him closer. He's still smiling against his lips.

And maybe, maybe Chan smiles too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ship : soonyoung x chan)
> 
> hello there~  
> i think this chapter, since the beginning of the story, is the one that can help you answering some questions the most, thanks to jeonghan's review. also, it's the very first time we get to know what and how junhui thinks (i hope you like the way it's written.)
> 
> what do you think about the two main things happening? did you expect them? are you disappointed about them? let me know!
> 
> take care, as always ♡


	6. Chapter 6

_Journal of Lee Jihoon_

_25th of July 2019 (in theory)_

_I said I wanted to stop the countdown. But it's always in my head. 309. It goes by slowly, and terribly fast at the same time. I want to tell them we should talk about it, I want us to get ready, like the Highers told us. Get ready either to do what they want us to do, or to rebel. I'm scared. I shouldn't be. Everything for science. But I have to admit science won't get me out of here. I'm a human, more than a scientist. I'm a human with feelings. Jeonghan told me I should talk more about what I feel. Because he says I have so many things in mind it could make me explode. I think he talks a lot for someone who steals my paper and blood so easily. He's lucky there's not much to say recently. But there will be soon. Cause I won't hush. It's a need now for us to talk about the situation. It can't last any longer._

_End of today's review._

"Say it."

He knows Jeonghan isn't sleeping. When they're together, he never sleeps. He stays silent for a moment, eyes closed. Jisoo sighs, Jeonghan mumbles "Say what?".

"You know it", he whispers weakly. Jeonghan finally looks at him and leans on his elbow, resting a hand on his chest. Jisoo is staring at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his nape, but he can see his eyes watering. "Not again Jisoo."

That's always the same thing. He doesn't want to say it. Doesn't want to see the tears rolling down Jisoo's face. But he knows he will say it and see the tears. Just as usual. Jisoo looks away from the ceiling, sticking their eyes together, begging him silently. "Tell me how it felt, when they took me." He lays a hand to his cheek, Jeonghan melts in the touch, closes his eyes for a second. He hears him swallowing what's clogging his throat, caresses his face with his thumb. Jeonghan wraps an arm around his chest and leans his head against it, intertwining their legs. "I thought I was dying Jisoo. I thought there was no reason for me to stay alive." He can feel the fast beatings of his heart through his ribcage, feel his hand shaking as he strokes his hair. It makes no sound, but he knows exactly when Jisoo starts crying.

It has been the worst time of his life. Even now that he's here, he thinks it's more bearable. Because they are together. Loosing the love of his life has been the worst thing that ever happened to him. The day Jeonghan understood Jisoo wouldn't come home, he went through all these fictional cases he was studying at university. Panic, denies, anger. He thought Jisoo just dumped him, that would have been hundred times better. But Jisoo disappeared from the face of the earth, from the circuits. No trace of him. Jeonghan waited until the cops find his dead body somewhere, but they never did. He even thought Jisoo could have killed himself. But the fact they never found any hint, any track, that was the hardest to bear. Knowing there wasn't anything to do, knowing he had to live alone, knowing he had to sleep in an empty bed every night.

And then, almost a year later, they took him too. And it was the end of his pain. The end of his despair. Jisoo was there. Jisoo was alive, and he didn't forget him. He never cried so much than this day, the 22nd of November 2015. Because during 49 days before, he thought he was hearing Jisoo's voice, on the other side of the door, and it was killing him. Trapped in a dark room, hearing the voice of his lost one, not knowing where he was, if it was really Jisoo separated a few, tiny centimeters away of him. He thought he was definitely going crazy, loosing his mind over the lost. And this door wouldn't open, he couldn't know whose voice it was, couldn't know where he was. And finally, he saw Jisoo again.

It never fails to remind him of all these things. He never dared to ask Jisoo why he always wants him to tell it. Doesn't know if it's to be sure he suffered as much as him. Their kisses are always messy and wet after Jisoo's question. The hands hurried and the breathing jerky. Even if they know they won't loose each other again, the feeling of emptiness doesn't leave them. Jisoo always needs to be hurt, always wants Jeonghan to be brutal and push him over. It's nothing like before. Jisoo was sweet, needed to be treaten kindly and softly. Fragile, delicate, these were the words he most liked to use to describe his lover. But this place changed him. Gave him some new needs. Sometimes, Jeonghan is scared to break him, can't give him what he needs. Also, he knows sometimes Jisoo looks for what he can't give him around Seungcheol. He can't blame him for that. But when it's really too hard to imagine him with Seungcheol, Jeonghan tries his best to satisfy Jisoo, sometimes ending crying, sometimes not able to do it anyway.

Today he doesn't want to let Jisoo leave to Seungcheol's arms. Not after the bruises on his throat. So he pushes. Hurts. Scratches, digs his nails. Bites, presses strong enough to leave purple and vivid red stains. Holds back his own pain and sobs. Jisoo whines, shakes, groans, tightens.

Jeonghan may be stronger, but not enough to bare that. It's not him, it's not who he is. He ends up clinging on Jisoo's nape, hiding his face, begging him to stop, continuously repeating he loves him. Because he does. Yoon Jeonghan loves Hong Jisoo. And that's the only thing keeping him alive.

Jisoo hugs him, caresses him, kisses him softly. And he apologies. Because he doesn't want to be like that, he doesn't want to have to ask Jeonghan to break his boundaries for him. And he tells him he loves him. Because he does. Hong Jisoo loves Yoon Jeonghan. And he may already have turned crazy if he didn't.

~

Could it be called peace?

He doesn't really know. But when Seungkwan asks Chan to train knife fight with him, it sounds like a friendly request. And when Chan accepts with the closest thing to a smile stretching his lips, angels sing. Hansol sits next to Soonyoung to sharpen his dagger, and doesn't fail to notice the smile on his lips. "It's you, isn't it?" Soonyoung seems caught of guard for a second, but the next one his eyes take the same sparkle again, not looking away from Chan who nimbly avoids Seungkwan's hits.

"I don't know what you're talking about", whispers Soonyoung amusedly, not able to hide a jump when Chan narrowly adorns a kick on the side. Hansol shrugs, focuses on Seungkwan. There's nothing much to say. Chan is different, and whatever it is that made him better is to thank.

"That's fine. Just glad for him." For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of blades clashing and groans. At some point, they notice Minghao's presence on top of the cabinet, fully focusing on the dance going on on the ring. Somewhere, far away, shoots resonate, arrows fly. But it seems to stop and dive the whole underground in the only silence of the fight. The lab door opens, a few heads appear to attend the show. Seungcheol emerges from the changing rooms, hair dripping, a towel around his hips as only clothe.

After an eternity, a weapon is thrown on the floor, a blade threatens Seungkwan's jaw. The looser keeps his hands up, the winner smiles. A fair play. Soonyoung claps with the brightest smile they can afford down here, and maybe, maybe Chan finally gets a glimpse of what he ever wished for.

Recognition.

"You improved", Junhui startles everyone, standing in the doorway of his cell. No one knows who exactly he's talking to, but they do know it means a lot. The Robot, the first ever inmate, admits someone's power. And they all know it means that maybe, they'll be ready.

309 days. That's all they've got left.

~

309\. 309. 309. And tomorrow it'll be 308. And the day after tomorrow 307. And in a few blinks, it'll be over. His chest lifts up faster and faster, his sight blurrs, his throat is constrained with an invisible hand. He wants to get out. He doesn't want to. He doesn't know. He's lost and terrified. Does he want to go back to what he had before? Nothing? Does he want to _know_ what will happen? Does he want to stay here forever?

It's too hard to get up and reach the showers. It's too hard to ignore the skin burning on his side. It's too hard to think or move. Minghao would like to call for help, actually. He would like to beg for anyone to save him but he's trapped in his blaze, behind an unbreakable wall no one can get through.

So he stays, since he has no other choice, lies on his bed, lets himself be destroyed by the same old inner storm. At least, he can't hurt himself physically. _Let's help each other not to hurt ourselves_. He'd like Junhui to be here. He doesn't know what he could do, actually, but he's convinced his presence would be enough of a comfort.

He can't remember how many times he hoped he died in the fire. Or even before, the time he got beaten so strongly he passed away for a day. Even at his birth, when the doctors said there was no hope but he survived. Maybe these were signs all along that he wasn't supposed to live. What's odd is he never thought of taking his own life. The idea never came through, not even once. Because he accepted, long ago, that if he was meant to live like this, despite all these times the destiny seemed to have hesitated, it was for a good reason.

When he arrived here, he thought he found this reason. He still thinks so. Not knowing a word of the language the others inmates were speaking, recognizing the kid. The kid who was not a kid anymore. Wen Junhui. Who knew his own language and taught him Korean.

Wen Junhui who opens his door now, when he's in the most need for help. It must be a miracle. Minghao blinks a few times to be sure it's not another of his delusions. But Jun is there, standing in the doorway, and sounds finally cross Minghao's lips as he calls for his name. Junhui closes the door and enters the room, slowly, confusingly. But he does it.

Approaching the bed, he seems to realize Minghao isn't just casually lying on his bed and sees his eyes full of withheld tears. Minghao gathers all his strength to lay a hand and catch Junhui's wrist, which makes him shiver but still kneel in front of the bed.

"Help me", Minghao's voice cracks, the tears silently run down his cheeks. Junhui's eyes widen, confusion painting all over his face as the seconds pass, as the tears fall. "How?" That's a good question. Minghao is paralyzed, can do nothing but endure the twitches of his chest due to his broken sobs. He shakes his head, closes the eyes.

"I don't know" It's actually harder than he thought. Asking for help. Maybe it is the first time in his whole life that he tries. He didn't think about that. How can he be helped? How can someone rescue him if he doesn't even know what's really happening? He keeps closing his eyes, so that if Junhui leaves he won't see it. But Junhui stays, surprisingly. After a few seconds, he feels two warm hands around his, hesitant, slightly shaky.

It's great. The warmth. Junhui's warmth is the only one he can bear. The only one he can enjoy. The only one that doesn't make him want to scream after a few minutes because he feel like burning. The only one that can help him. It already happened when he took him out of the shower, when he wrapped him in the towel and rubbed his back. Is it a progress, he doesn't know, can't tell. But Minghao can open his eyes again and see Junhui. He can see him discovering the cell, since it's the first time he stays for so long. No one ever enters Junhui's. And he rarely enters someones else's. He looks young. As if his stolen youth was still trying to stay a little longer. Innocent. Immature.

Minute after minute, the tears dry and the spasms calm down, the burning gets away. Junhui stays.

Maybe he can ask for help, in fact.

~

300.

The numbers spin in his head, mix, hit, itch. The wires in his hands shake, he can't see their colors anymore. Seokmin's humming too loudly behind his back.

"Seokmin can you shut the fuck up?!" He can't control it. Wonwoo turns around to stare furiously at the singer, but there's no one. He straightens up, looks around ; he's alone in the lab. With a loud sigh, he puts his stuff down and leaves the room. He's turning completely crazy lately, he can't take the countdown off his mind, can't think about anything else than the D-day.

He's weak. That's the main thing he's had in mind for the past weeks. His only skill is to craft bombs. But will it really be helpful? The Highers seem to have put a major point on this ability for all the years he spent in these undergrounds, but they probably never cared about his ability to fight, like the others. He's weak, and no one can deny it. He's weak and has been so for all his life, may it be when he was outside, or now, trapped under the neon lights for 300 more days. They don't even know if they'll get out, after this, but something big will happen for sure. All these years of training must be useful, there's no doubt. But the fact is he has _no_ training in anything.

Little Boy is weak, and he will change that.

Wonwoo walks through the Room, not caring about anyone, and enters the shooting range, slamming the door behind him. He holds back a loud sigh at the sight of the only person present. Mingyu. He shoots three more times before putting his gun down and turning to Wonwoo, taking his protection glasses off.

"What do you want." It's not even a question. A reproach, maybe, for breaking his intimacy.  But Wonwoo doesn't care, he stopped caring about hurting anyone's feeling, pride or ego a long time ago. It has not been so long since he gave up on Mingyu, and it still hurts, but things have to change, just like Wonwoo has to get stronger.

"Teach me. How to shoot." The words are cold when leaving his mouth, they leave a sensation of something missing in his throat, but he doesn't flinch, keeps staring at Mingyu, jaw clenched. Mingyu seems slightly surprised for a short second, but the next one his blank expression takes possession of his face again and he shrugs, walking to the cabinet to take an other gun out. Smaller, it looks tiny in Mingyu's hands, but when he puts it in  Wonwoo's ones, the weight of so much more than just a simple weapon makes it look giant. For the ten years he's spent down here, never once did he touch a weapon. A weapon other than a bomb. A weapon that could kill easily, a weapon he could use when he wants, not having to craft it, not having to spend hours in the night, making sure he won't kill all of them at the slightest mistake.

"Wonwoo. If you want to learn you've gotta listen to me." The words buzz around his ears as he can't look away from the revolver. "Wonwoo!" There he is. Emerging, coming back to reality. To the reality where he just asked Mingyu to teach him how to use a gun, the reality where Mingyu is actually trying to teach him how to use a gun. He could've refused, but he didn't, he didn't and is now standing back in front of the range number seven, waiting for him to listen, obey, and learn.

Wonwoo approaches, starting to feel his legs unsteady, holding the gun so carefully by fear of dropping it or pulling the trigger by mistake. When he's close enough to Mingyu, he remembers how tall he is, he looks at him slightly panicked, remembers everything, in fact. How he used to worry for him all the time, how he used to think about him all the time. 

How much he used to love him. 

But past is past, and Mingyu is here, looking at him with the closest thing to amusement Wonwoo has ever seen in his eyes. "You know, nothing bad can happen, it has not munition." Wonwoo lets out a weird chuckle, nods, looks down on his shaking hands.

Mingyu takes his own gun in hand, shows the gesture, quickly eyes Wonwoo to see if he's doing the same, shoots once in the target center, making Wonwoo startle. Seeing how badly he's holding his weapon, he puts his down and approaches Wonwoo, who doesn't look away from his hands. His breath is shaky, jerky. What is he doing? Why did he think it'd be a good idea to ask Mingyu for help, to decide to learn how to use a gun? He shakes his head, presses his eyelids close for a moment before focusing on his hands, trying to steady them.

He focuses on Mingyu's breathing, next to him, close to him. The slight wheezing he knows so well. Mingyu puts a hand under his arms to make him raise them, angle his wrists to steady his hold. He's breathing calmly, peacefully, the exact opposite of Wonwoo. Mingyu slightly bends down, whispers "Don't move" and takes the gun away to replace it with an other, loaded, heavier. With a click, he guides his hands to charge it, gentle, delicate. At the last moment, he withdraws, takes his distance. 

"Shoot." 

The word resonates in Wonwoo's mind, his eyes squint on the gun for a second, and the next one a terrible sizzling deafens him. He doesn't sense his arms nor his legs and drops the revolver. Mingyu catches it before it hits the floor and looks at him.

His hands shake, he doesn't hear anything, his legs threaten to give up on him. The blast doesn't stop resonating in his head, he feels like he's about to explode. Wonwoo can finally look down on his hands. They could've killed someone. They could have taken someone's life. He can't breathe anymore, his chest is lifting up too fast. He's suffocating.

Just like he did with the gun, Mingyu catches him before his knees hit the floor when he finally falls. He wraps his arms around him and kneel on the icy concrete, holding him tight, waiting until he can finally breathe normally again. But at this right moment, Wonwoo feels like he won't ever be able to anymore. The detonation hit something in him, broke something as he pulled the trigger. "Wonwoo, breathe in." Easy to say, harder to do. His eyes are glued to the gun lying on the floor, next to him and Mingyu, he vaguely feels Mingyu's hand stroking his hair.

He somehow hears someone asking if he's okay, far away, Mingyu's chest hitting his head as he straightens up to nod. When he does, Wonwoo realizes he's not stroking his hair anymore but just holding his head against his chest, slowly caressing his cheek with the thumb. Getting to know that help him calm down in a way, slows down his heartbeats, clears his sight. His glasses fell, where are his glasses? Oh, next to the gun. A sudden reflex pushes him to break from Mingyu's embrace and lean forward to take them, immediately feeling the cold shrouding him. But he doesn't go back against Mingyu, doesn't go back to the comfort. Because this comfort is bad, and maybe that's what brings him down on Earth, if they even are.

"Are you okay?" Wonwoo nods, kneeling in front of Mingyu, tightening the sleeves of his sweater on his knees, ashamed, uncomfortable. Mingyu is looking straight at him, unashamed, confident. It unsettles Wonwoo, makes him look at Mingyu in a way he doesn't want to. Makes him realize the bruises on his face still haven't left, still darken his skin with a green-yellow tint. It's been a long time since Mingyu's skin lost its brilliance, but Wonwoo never forgot and still sees it as the first day. Despite the two months he'd spent locked in the dark of his cell, Mingyu was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen the day he got out. 

And right now, he hates thinking about that. He hates feeling himself raising a hand to touch the stains. He hates seeing Mingyu's disturbed gaze, he hates feeling himself withdraw with shame. 

Again. Shame, shame, shame, always shame. 

The skin was soft. For the short seconds he touched it, it was soft. But it costed him to break every resolution he took and to feel his heart clench at Mingyu's gaze.

He would actually like to be sorry. Sorry for himself. For keeping the hope of _something_. Of something he'll never get, of something vain to think he'll ever even brush from the fingertips. He would like to be sorry for himself, but maybe feeling this way is actually the only thing making him feel the closest thing to alive, so he's not sorry. 

He's not sorry about anything.

Mingyu looks at him, and the discomfort turns in something Wonwoo can't describe.

"I'm sorry Wonwoo."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ships : jisoo x jeonghan  
> mention of wonwoo x mingyu )
> 
> i'm back with a new chapter! like i said a few weeks ago, i wasn't really sure about what to do with this fic, but getting to write this chapter made me fall in love with it again, so it seems like it's going on !  
> however, i'm starting new studies, so i probably won't have a lot of time to write, please wait for the next chapters! i'll try my best to not let you wait for too long …
> 
> take care, and once again, tell me what you thought of the chapter! ♡


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